


Moments With the Dragonborn

by imperialdragonborn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialdragonborn/pseuds/imperialdragonborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments between Avamir and Vilkas as their relationship grows and changes.<br/>Gift-fic for looktothehorizon of glances at the relationship between her Dovahkiin and Vilkas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [looktothehorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/looktothehorizon/gifts).



Vilkas smelt the stranger before he saw them. Even without the heightened senses that came with his beast he suspected he would have noticed them, the smell of blood preceded them like a coppery perfume. As it was, his beast caught on to the scent immediately and stirred beneath his skin. The rise of the wolf in him made him grip the armrests of his chair tighter and his headache spike; it was hard enough to resist the call without being able to smell the spoils of a kill in close proximity.

Soon after the smell of copper came the smell of mud. And beneath that he smelt his brother, iron and war-paint and a scent in his blood that marked him as kin. It was after all that Vilkas smelt the stranger beneath the blood and earth; the tang of sweetrolls and something curling through their blood that smelt warm, a burning energy that reminded him of the smell of the world on a rare hot day. A strange combination of scents to find walking through his home.

He glanced at Kodlak out of the corner of his eye. The Harbinger was silent, effectively ending their discussion of the beast blood and Vilkas mirrored him as they waited for the stranger to reach them. He had no idea who to expect, but they had arrived with his brother. Farkas’ scent grew faint eventually, a sign he’d headed for his room, but the sweet scent of baked goods and sun over the plains moved closer.

The stranger stepped into the doorway. They were…Well, his first impression was simply that they were covered in blood and mud. That explained the copper cologne and the imprint of earth about them. Where had Farkas found this whelp?

“I see we have a visitor.” Kodlak said, feigning surprise as though they hadn’t been waiting for said visitor to arrive at their door.

“Are you Kodlak?” The stranger asked. By their accent, Vilkas assumed they were a Nord. They were all contrasts beneath the coat of blood, dark hair that fell in tangles to her shoulders and pale skin and dark blue eyes. “Farkas saw me take down a giant near one of the farms, he told me to ask a Kodlak about joining.”

The whelp sounded so unsure. Where had they come from that they did not know the rules of joining the Companions or about Kodlak? He assumed most people knew the name of the Harbinger if nothing else, that had been his experience while adventuring out in Skyrim. To be oblivious, had they been living in a cave on the North coast until now? And what was his brother doing sending strangers to their hall at such a time?

Vilkas scoffed, at the stranger and their inane question and at his brother. Farkas had a big heart, perhaps the whelp was down on her luck and he’d offered Jorrvaskr as a place for her to find a bed and coin. They certainly looked like it, her armour was shabby beneath the blood and he could see there was a bruise colouring her forehead. He couldn’t fault Farkas for offering a kindness, but he was sure Kodlak would be quick to send this whelp on their way. With the matter of the beast blood as it was it was not the time for strangers.

“I am Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions. You wish to join our honoured hall?”

“I do.”

Ah, and now Kodlak could send her away. But instead of politely declining her request and sending her away to clean the blood off of herself, the Harbinger tilted his head and hummed, muttered something about a ‘certain strength of spirit’.

He…Was he considering it? Vilkas glanced at Kodlak sharply. “Master, you’re not really considering letting her join?”

Kodlak raised his eyebrows and his lips set into a hard line, a silent admonishment Vilkas was well used to by now. He turned away from the look, rolling his shoulders to shake off the discomfort. Perhaps he had spoken out of turn, it was not his place to question the will of the Harbinger if they wished to recruit someone…But the issue of the blood was hard enough to keep quiet with the whelps they already had, nevermind letting another join.

“I am nobody’s Master, Vilkas. And last time I checked we still have empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.”

The stranger raised her eyebrows at him and Vilkas seethed. To be admonished in front of a whelp, it set his teeth on edge.

“Apologies,” he muttered, then cast a glare in the direction of the blood-covered stranger. “But perhaps this isn’t the best time?” When Kodlak didn’t acknowledge his hint he huffed. “I haven’t even heard of this outsider!”

What would it take to make Kodlak see sense? Had the old man forgotten their problems with the blood or did he not think a newcomer would complicate matters?

The stranger looked like she wanted to protest to that, but Kodlak spoke before she had chance. A good thing too, Vilkas would argue the newcomer out of Jorrvaskr with half the chance. “Many have come to us to earn their fame, you know that well. If we only accepted those who were already heroes when they knocked at our door, our mead hall would be an empty place indeed. What truly matters is their heart.”

“And their arm.” Vilkas cut in. The whelp didn’t have impressive armour or a well-cut blade from the looks of things, her armour didn’t even look as if it had been made for her!

“Of course.” Kodlak relented at last. “How are you in battle?”

The stranger shrugged. “I can handle myself.”

That was either modesty or trying to hide that she had no skill at all. Vilkas had a grim feeling he’d been finding out soon enough.

“Well, the best way to see is to test you. Vilkas, head out into the yard and see what she can do.”

Vilkas stared back at Kodlak with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. He was utterly against this and yet Kodlak wanted him to be the one to test her? When he didn’t immediately reply Kodlak raised his eyebrows again. It seemed he was to have no choice in the matter then.

“Aye.” Vilkas relented and pushed to his feet. Perhaps this was the best way. He could knock the whelp into the dust, tell Kodlak she was weak and the problem would be solved.

“Go with Vilkas, you can spar with him and we can see the strength of your arm.” Kodlak said to the whelp.

She nodded and turned to follow Vilkas as he walked towards the door.

“And forgive me for not asking sooner but, what is your name?” Kodlak continued.

She paused for a long moment before she answered. Vilkas wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was she hiding something and didn’t want to tell them her name as a result? Was she inventing a false name? Vilkas wasn’t sure, but he smelt no lie upon her scent when she answered, “Avamir.”

Kodlak nodded. “I hope Vilkas with return with news of your strength, Avamir.”

The whelp smiled and the light of it reached her eyes, making them shine.  She had a pretty smile. Or it would be pretty, if not for the blood. Vilkas scowled at the treacherous thought and began to jog towards the door. She could be as pretty as she liked, it didn’t change that she’d be leaving Jorrvaskr as soon as he proved she had no place there.


	2. Back To Sleep

Vilkas knew he should be asleep. Jorrvaskr was quiet around him, his body was weary from a long day on the road and a sweet night with his wife and the beast was gone from his blood. There was no reason for him to be awake.

But he was and that was that and Vilkas had spent enough sleepless nights scowling at the ceiling in frustration to know when sleep was far away. It was his beast that had kept him up before but now it was just…Ah, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t need to overthink why he was awake, maybe that would just lead to him being more alert and frustrated.

So instead of thinking he cured himself tighter against Avamir’s back. She was sound asleep at least, the fur coverings pooled around her waist. Vilkas let a hand rest against her hip, absentmindedly working his calloused fingers over the curve of her waist and the faint scars across her side. Avamir made a faint sound in her sleep and he hesitated. He didn’t want to wake her up when she’d managed to find a sound sleep for once.

When she settled he moved his hand again, trailing it up to rest against her left breast. She’d placed his hand there when she’d first fallen asleep, holding him against her skin in a way that wasn’t sexual but soft and comforting.

He shifted his hand to feel the thump of her heart as he could no longer taste it in his throat. He thought of the day they’d given up the blood together, remembered the rush as the beast in his flesh fell away and how he was left shaking and empty but clean. And Avamir had looked at him, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen who had allowed him to rid his soul of the wolf, and instinct had moved him as though the beast was still present. He wasn’t sure who had moved forward first but he remembered the first time his lips touched hers, remembered the thrill of feeling her hips beneath his hands as she leant against him. He thought of the heat of that first kiss, the sweetest of her mouth, how he’d known then that he wanted to kiss her every day for the rest of the days the Divines would give him.

In memory of that, he placed a soft kiss against the back of her neck, just below the curling ends of her hair. The night after that first kiss they’d shared a bed together. It wasn’t planned, just a strange twist of fate due to an inn too full for separate rooms. He had been so nervous, glad her beast senses were gone so she couldn’t smell it on him. He had been convinced he’d somehow manage to do something wrong, that he would somehow ruin the sweet turn their relationship had taken.

So he’d asked to kiss her. That way, if she said no, he could accept it had been a one-time thing. A way to release emotion after the shock of being free from the blood and nothing more. He would have been disappointed, of course, but better that than hope for more than she wished to give.

He wasn’t disappointed. They didn’t say anything that night about futures or doing anything more, just kissed. Though ‘just’ hardly summed up how it felt. It was sweet and soft, everything he could have wanted and more. She’d sighed against his mouths in a way that had left him warm to his toes, held him as though she never wanted it to end. He’d felt the same way.

He still did. Every night now he shared his bed with her and still he marvelled at it, at how right it felt to fall asleep with her pressed against him and how wonderful it was to wake up and see her before the rest of the world. She was Dragonborn, the woman the whole of Skyrim wanted to see. But in their bed she was just Avamir, more wondrous than any figure of myth, his wife who smelt of sweetrolls and managed to brighten any dark day. She was his and he was hers and it was never so sweet and simple as it was in their bed.

Even now, her presence made being unable to sleep easier. Before, he would have been frustrated and tried to read to force tiredness or paced or even fumbled with the damn alchemy supplies he’d been hoarding since he was a whelp. Now, he was content to curl himself against her and let the warmth of her slowly lull him towards sleep. He’d get there eventually. And when he did, he’d have Avamir’s kisses and laughter and love to wake up to. That made the thought of finally falling asleep more tempting than it ever had been.


	3. Flowers

Vilkas didn’t know anything about flowers. Not really. He’d dabbled in alchemy as a whelp, trying to…He wasn’t sure. Prove some point to himself. Be more than a swordsman, as though there was anything wrong with that. But his limited knowledge of flowers involved the fact he knew a few were poisonous.

He didn’t know anything about flowers as a romantic gift. He’d given them to a girl from Helgen that had visited Whiterun with her merchant mother once. They’d been wildflowers gathered from the slopes and he’d been sixteen, tripping over his tongue as he presented them, red faced. She’d liked them well enough but he’d spotted her mother laughing at him and the whole experience had generally made him feel so uncomfortable that he’d never really considered flower giving again.

Until Avamir. He wouldn’t have guessed she was one for flowers, which was perhaps him making assumptions simply because she was a warrior. He’d discovered he was wrong on the way home from a job one day. She’d stopped, stepping off the road and returning with a bunch of small blue flowers clutched in her hands.

“Forget-me-nots,” she’d said and held them up for him to smell. “Blue, like your eyes.”

From anyone else, that might have sounded ridiculous. But Avamir had said it so sweetly he’d blushed.

He blushed to think of it now, blushed for her as he did for no other. The flowers were brighter than his pale eyes. Even so…The comparison had been sweet. He wanted to do something sweet for her in return.

He was hoping the little meal he’d prepared in Breezehome would do the trick. She was off on a job to Riverwood. Nothing serious, a milkdrinker that needed dealing with lest they cause worse trouble than they already had. Avamir was Dragonborn, a word from her would have him shaking in his boots if he had any sense.

They’d agreed that morning to meet back at the small house later rather than at Jorrvaskr. A quiet evening for them, away from the noise and crowds of the mead hall. Vilkas knew Avamir wouldn’t be expecting anything upon her return and the thought of surprising her made him smile, even if he did feel a little foolish scouring the plains around Whiterun for flowers.

Still, Avamir was his wife, he could stand to be foolish for her. He’d do that and more if it meant making her smile.

The pile of forget-me-nots gathered in a small vase he’d bought from the market to fill with water, he turned his attention to dinner.  It was a simple meal, meat and potatoes, nothing to write home about. But he knew it was good to eat food someone else had prepared, regardless of how intricate or simple said food was.

It was early evening by the time Avamir returned home and the food was finished and being warmed by the fire. She paused, her hand still on the handle of the door as she took in the scene. “Dinner?”

“Dinner.” Vilkas said, taking satisfaction in her surprise. There was obvious satisfaction to find in slaying a dragon or helping Avamir with her tasks as Dragonborn – though those days were done with the death of Alduin - but seeing her smile and knowing he was the cause was a simple and wondrous thing.

“You have been busy.” Avamir smiled, reaching up to undo the clasp of her travel cloak. She turned to hang it up beside the door and spotted the forget-me-nots in their little vase. She was still for a moment, in which Vilkas suddenly felt unsure and like a fumbling red-faced whelp all over again. “You got these for me?”

Vilkas fumbled. She didn’t sound especially glad to see them, her voice was hard to read. He missed his beast blood in moments like this, it had given him certainty if nothing else. “Aye, for you.” he said eventually.

Avamir smiled and scooped up the vase, raising it to sniff the petals. The light of the fire against the flowers cast her face in blue shadows. “They’re my favourite, thank you.” Her voice was warm and sincere.

Reassured she _was_ in fact happy to have them, Vilkas smiled and made his way over. They’d been apart since this morning, he was longing for a kiss from his wife.

She still had the vase in her hands as he leaned in to press his lips against hers softly. She hummed against his mouth, moving a hand from her flowers to touch his jaw. Her fingers were cold from the outside but when he shivered it had nothing to do with that. “We should eat before we get distracted and our food goes cold.” Avamir said.

Vilkas shrugged. “We can warm it back up.”

Avamir laughed and pushed him back gently. “You went to all this trouble and now you want to let it go to waste?”

Vilkas rolled his eyes fondly and took her free hand to tug her towards the table. “Hm, I suppose when you put it like that…”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, close enough to his mouth that it made him shiver again. “We can have something sweet for afters.”

Warmed by the thought, Vilkas went to gather the plates of food. They ate and talked over their days, Avamir explaining the situation that had unfolded in Riverwood as Vilkas listened and then he blushed and told her about searching the plains for flowers and she smiled so sweetly at him it made all the embarrassment worth it.

Afterwards they went to bed, leaving the rest of the world behind in favour of lingering sweet kisses and touches that eventually led to them both falling into a hazy sleep. And when Vilkas woke up the next morning the first thing he saw was his wife asleep beside him, a forget-me-not curled around her fingers.


	4. Stars

“The stars are beautiful tonight.”

Vilkas glanced up from the campfire and the supper he was preparing to look at the sky. It was clear of clouds for once and above them stretched a haze of red stars, like a streak of crimson against the darkness of the night. It cast their little campfire, based at the edge of Falkreath forest, in an eerie glow.

He turned to look at Avamir. The light of the stars painted an amber hue across her pale skin. Combined with the dark streaks of war paint that criss-crossed her face it made her look ethereal. Every inch the Dragonborn, decked in red light and fierce war paint. But she was smiling at him, every inch his sweet wife too.

Vilkas leaned across to kiss her red-tinted skin, letting his mouth linger as he mumbled his reply against her cheek, “You’re beautiful tonight.”

She was beautiful always, of course, but Vilkas was still easing himself into the patterns of offering affection. He loved Avamir, loved her in a way that made his breath hitch and hands tremble with a desire to touch. Loved her in a way that made him feel giddy and odd. But despite what Farkas told people, he wasn’t the best talker. He could rattle on about history and tradition and honour, but sweet talk? That made him feel unsure and clumsy. He was most comfortable when he could whisper words to Avamir for only her to hear.

He liked the way his words made her blush, bringing new colour to her already red-tinted cheeks. She turned towards him, their lips bumping lazily, any attempt at a kiss ruined by the way they were both smiling. “You’re sweet. And a handsome sight yourself.” Avamir’s hand slid up to stroke along the stubble lining his jaw before her fingers trailed through his hair and came to rest at the nape of his neck.

They stayed like that for a few moments, their foreheads pressed together, her tracing patterns on his skin while Vilkas let his hand rest against her hip and squeeze lightly through her armour.

Then the stew in the pot over the fire bubbled and broke the moment. They laughed, exchanged a short kiss, and Avamir sat forwards to pull the pot free. The orange firelight slid over her and her dark hair fell across her face as she leaned over to stir their supper. She was cast in contrasts and edges and it only confirmed his thoughts from moments before – she looked beautiful always, in every light.

Of course, he was slightly biased. Happily biased, he could never imagine looking at her and finding anything but beauty. Her skin could turn to ash or scales or rot away and still she would be beautiful, because he loved her.

Her beauty was found in more than just her appearance too. She was beautiful because of the way she leaned forwards to listen to him when he talked, the way her eyes would find his and stay there to show he had her full attention. The fact she loved his brother, the fact she was caring and attentive and strong and made him feel more, made him feel like he could face anything. The fact she had supported him through his grief, helped him to find revenge and then peace with Kodlak’s ghost. She had helped him cleanse his soul of the beast. Nobody could ever give him a greater gift than that.

Avamir pressed the bowl of stew into his hands and that broke his stream of thoughts. “What are you smiling about?” she said with a teasing grin.

“How much I love you.” Vilkas said. His cheeks turned as red as the sky, but it was the truth and he had always been a terrible liar.

Avamir laughed, a lovely sound that rose up from her like a Shout but with none of the force. Her cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the colour of the stars or the heat of the fire. “Well in that case carry on.”

“I’d rather talk with you, if you don’t mind.” Vilkas teased in response, spurred on by how pleased she looked.

She laughed again and shuffled back to sit between his legs. She leaned back against his chest and Vilkas rested against the tree behind him to support them both. He kissed the top of her head and she hummed in happy appreciation before they began to eat their supper.

As they ate, Avamir asked him questions. Which aurora did he like best? Had he ever studied the stars? With anyone else he might have accused them of just wanting to fill the silence, but Avamir’s questions were genuine and she was interested. She listened to anything he had to say with rapt attention and her own answers were thoughtfully considered.

They shared quiet words about the stars until sleep began to itch at their eyes and they left the crimson lights for the warm darkness of their tent. Tucked against him beneath their fur coverings, Vilkas could confirm Avamir looked beautiful even shrouded by the shadows of the tent. As though there had ever been any doubt she would.

 


End file.
